Chapter 38: Last Legs

“Black Coats, our righteous Angels of Haven, the time is now 0600 hours. ”

Jongdae trudged out of bed. Black hair dye left a Rorschach inkblot behind on white sheets. “Butterfly,” he named it. Changed perspective some degrees. “Butterfly,” he decided with a satisfied nod. 

His typical morning ritual included showering, brushing his teeth, repeating his name in the mirror. Face distorted by steam. Hair dripping black. Jongdae. Jongdae. “Jongdae,” he hears Fay say, but she’s not there. Fay took an axe to the face and died a year ago. 

White, bedroom doors stay sealed until 0917. The Blue’s Screening was scheduled for today; 0900 on the dot—like clockwork. Someone forgot to punctuate. Hands manually yanked Jongdae’s cell open. 

“Mind if we join you?” Hun skipped inside without waiting for an answer, arguing, “Blackouts are better with friends.” The small, fragile, sticky thing inside Jongdae’s chest leapt into his throat. A friend in need is a friend indeed. 

Seconding the Shisa’s reinvigorated levity, Minseok greeted, “Morning, Jongdae”—what a name!

“Charybdis got your tongue?” Hun joked. Basking in the choice he’d made, Jongdae hadn’t noticed the turn their “friendly” conversation took. “Later meals. Fewer screenings. Security cameras go dark,” Hun repeated the Society’s most recent slip-ups. 

“Fay’s going to be moved soon:” Minseok learned all by himself. “It’s now or never.” 

Increasing female Black Coat survival rates necessitated the Tower’s expansion; new dormitories were in the works. Up restricted by mankind’s 300-year-old directive, down Haven dug. Consistent tremors reminded them homo sapiens died centuries ago. In an age of innovation, the old models whispered behind drawn curtains.

“And if our Father who art in Haven’s expecting us?” Jongdae played Hades’s advocate.

“An Adlet due for the 11th floor lopped his head clean off two days ago,” Hun began with the nonchalance of a kin-slayer’s accomplice. “Always talked about how he’d do it. White Coats kept a close eye on him for years. That night—nothing. No alarms. No dog whistles. Skin’s turning blue as a berry last time I checked.”

With only a week left to gather the cavalry, the Society’s lack of good-moral-breeding order was a happy coincidence. “Then the Underground awaits,” Jongdae announced. Whispered beneath his breath to keep conspiracy theories at bay. Johnny always got what he wanted. 

Magdalene preferred her middle name. Too many Marys in one place and people start to compare. An air of optimistic victimization typical of Ks lifted her head high. She made eye contact with everyone; if you notice she missed you, then she’s already won. 

“Scylla doesn’t avoid people,” she said, meeting Jongdae’s stare. “Dr. Frankenstein’s just got a bone to pick—an itch to scratch—a wheel to reinvent—choose your favorite idiom. So here I am to fill in size 9 shoes.”

“Is she sick?” Jongdae asked. Albeit dangerous to propose the adjective in a society plagued by early retirement, paranoia considered all marginal variables viable reasons to doubt. “Home” got farther away the longer Jongdae stayed. Stuck. Standing in the Tower’s lobby as souls sorted themselves out. 

“She’s not; we are.” Magdalene teetered on boot heels, explaining, “We’re dying too quickly.” Expanding. “Hear that? Tick. Tick. Tick. I’m on day 36. Should happen any second now. ” Exploring Jongdae’s cluttered headspace like a vacuum. “Boom!” 

Jongdae flinched at the syllable shouted into his rightmost head’s right ear. Piercing through dreams and reality’s lovechild: unadulterated madness. Butterflies are butterflies. Stick to the facts.  

“Lighten up.” Magdalene laughed, “Our species needs to learn to laugh a little.” 

“Let’s run away together,” Jongdae proposed.

Minseok didn’t approve. The engagement was rushed, yes. Stupid, not necessarily. “Might want to ask daddy for new hair dye!” Magdalene yelled from the bathroom of room 111. Another day, another blackout. Clattering bottles preceded, “Nobody panic!”

“Charybdis’ll swallow us whole,” Hun warned. Experience with the natural disaster spanning 36 days, he knew, “Ask not if, but when.” Smart men don’t flirt with certain death. 

“Do you trust her?” Minseok asked.

“Consider it my show of dissidence; K can’t have all the fun,” Jongdae laughed. If spontaneity made a noise, it’d be gratuitous laughter. Besides herself with the sound, Magdalene twirled into the static sky’s limelight. Blond hair dyed black. Capering to and fro like an inky butterfly. 

“Less gawking, more talking.” She insisted the band of heroes maintain their flight pattern, “The only thing I know about Nefaria Farland is she gives the cleanest stink eye.” 

Jongdae doesn’t have a pokerface; either its saying everything or nothing. Fay saw everything. The Dog Fights preferred nothing. Johnny mastered the art of inspirational posters; differentiating between good and bad apples was in his job description.

Sunken eyes scrutinizing the tiniest pores for imperfection, Johnny said, “Aren’t you walking on air today?” Tiredly tapping feet dotted the silence between them. “Mary Magdalene must suit your particularly picky preferences to warrant an impromptu stroll about the Underground.”

“Isn’t she here for me, too?” Jongdae wistfully commented. “Magdalene” chatted up a storm with unresponsive White Coats. “Besides—she refuses to believe cheep exist.” The elevator’s last call went out. Distant chimes sung a song of freedom; so close, yet kept at bay by further fatherly inquiries.

“Cassiel’s miraculous return to our blessed bosom doesn’t arouse your curiosity in the least?” Johnny bobbed for answers to Jongdae’s visible unrest, “You’re straining at the leash.” Every tap, tap, tap warranted a flinch of fluttering lashes. 

Adam’s apple sinking and springing up to match Johnny’s observation, Jongdae stammered, “These pants are too tight.” 

“Too eager, are we?” Johnny approved of proactive procreation. His gaze turned to “Magdalene” meters off, searching for likewise anticipation on her face. Construction workers moved dirt quickly across the basement level of the Tower. White walls were splattered with gunk and grime. Seeing through the dust clouds of progress was nearly impossible. 

“Johnny, a word please,” Minseok volunteered for the role of distraction; it only takes seconds to realize which sea monster blocks your way home. “For old time’s sake.”

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Elevator doors began creaking closed, and Jongdae hurried on. “Happy hunting, ” Johnny cheered for the prodigal son.

The bleached blonde beside him noted, “Just us then.” Her inflection positively peppered with unnatural pep. Her “Magdalene” disguise fading fast. Clockwork City’s stunted skyline couldn’t come into view fast enough. Stink eyes renowned the Hortum over were sure to be in store.